'Aftermath'

Ralph Gleason stood looking down at the bloody body of his youngest son. He stood there for some time; stern, silent and sullen.

When he finally did look up there were no tears in his eyes. At times he had hated the headstrong boy for his many shortcomings, but he had loved him none-the-less. But there were no tears. Maybe later, but for now there was vengeance to be had. Punishment would be rendered on the man who had killed his son --- and it would be served with a heavy hand.

Gleason now turned both his anger and his hard gaze on Martin Strongheart. "I sent you there to look after him --- and you failed me."

Strongheart, his bandaged left shoulder paining him despite the pills Alison had given him, winced as though he'd just been shot again. Gleason's icy rebuke hurt him more than any bullet ever could. The old man had been like a father to him --- stern, even cold at times, but always fair.

Except for now.

"I tried, sir, but he wouldn't listen."

Gleason's cold eyes flashed anger, his voice like a sharp knife. "Then you should have physically stopped him! Knocked him out! Tied him up! Something!"

Instinct suddenly kicked in and Stoneheart defended himself. "There's no stopping Billy-Ray when he has his mind made up, sir; we both know that. If I'd of dragged him back here, he'd have just gone right back to that boatyard."

Gleason's eyes went cold at that. "Then you should have killed Burnham before Billy-Ray called him out!"

"You told me to watch Billy-Ray's back, not go on ahead and kill Burnham. If you wanted me to do that then you should have sent me earlier."

They stood there glaring at each other, no longer 'boss-man and hired-hand', but two strong, independent men that both felt that the other had let them down. The battle of wills however only lasted several heartbeats before the older man took a deep breath and sighed.

"You're right, Martin --- about everything. Billy-Ray's hard head and my mistake in not having you take out Burnham right away." He moved forward and placed a hand on Strongheart's unwounded shoulder. "I don't blame you for his death --- I blame Samuel Burnham. And I'm telling you now that I want him to pay for killing my boy. So find him and bring him to me, Martin. Will you do that for me, son?"

Strongheart blinked. "son' was a name he had never called him before. "I will, Mr. Gleason. I give you my word."

"That's good enough for me, Martin. Take as many men as you need."

"I'll just need my crew, sir."

"Fine. Alive if you can, Martin. But alive or dead, I want him brought to me."

"I'll get on it right away, sir."

"No, you rest that shoulder for a day or two. Send out your men to find Burnham and watch him. When you're ready you go and bring him back here."

Gleason then looked over at his daughter. Alison was sitting silently off to one side with a drink in her hand and a bloodstained bandage wound round her head. Her startling blue eyes were fixed on him.

"You shouldn't have brought here there, Martin," he said while he returned his daughter's stare. "She could have been killed as well."

"Your daughter is much like her brother in that way, sir. Willful and hard headed." Strongheart replied quickly, yet there was unaccustomed warmth in his voice. "I doubt Keiflin would heed me any more than Billy-Ray would."

Gleason frowned. "Kieflin? Why do you call her that?"

"It's a Mohawk word, daddy," Alison said after finishing her Scotch. "It means 'bitch'."

The older man's frowned remained, but less so than before. "I think not, daughter. Martin is too much of a gentleman. An endearment perhaps?"

"And if it is?!"she demanded, her eyes suddenly turning ice blue.

Gleason glanced down at the body of his dead son, then back to his daughter. "Then it is one that I agree with. Martin has always been like a son to me --- and perhaps one day the two of you will give me a grandson --- but now I have a son to burry and Martin's job is to bring me his killer. After that we will talk more about 'Mohawk endearments'.

The two men nodded to each other and Alison poured herself another drink. "Bring Martin and I one as well, will you, Allie?"

Alison paused in mid pour, looked up and frowned 'Allie'?' she thought. 'The old bastard hasn't called me that since I was a kid. 'What game is he up to now?!' he poured the drinks and handed them out. 'Here you go, daddy --- though isn't it a bit early in the day for you?'

Gleason drew a deep breath and raised his glass up in the air. "It's not every day that a man gets to toast his murdered son. Allie --- or give thanks that his only surviving daughter didn't follow her brother into death."

"Jesus, father," she said. "Do you have to be so melodramatic?"

Gleason downed his drink, grimaced, and answered his daughter's rhetorical question. "What I have to be, daughter-mine, is avenged! Your man Martin here is going to help me with that --- as is an associate of mine known as Bad Santa."

"The former drug dealer turned cult leader?" Alison asked.

"The very same."

"And why do we need the services of such a low-life?!" she demanded. "Martin has always handled things for you before."

"And he will this time as well, daughter. However your brother's murderer is far more dangerous than your average farmer or local fisherman. He's a trained killer with decades of experience --- and I'm sure you wouldn't want Martin to face such a man alone?"

Alison frowned, suspecting a trap of some kind. "Of course not, father. Your future son-in-law is far too precious to me."

"And me as well, Allie," Gleason grinned. "That's why I'm enlisting St. Nick's help. Burnham is hiding in the town of Mohawk --- and I intend to kill everyone there and then burn it to the ground."

***

Sam soon had the White Witch under full sail and running before the wind. He stood at the tiller, grim faced an silent as the spiral of dirty grey smoke from his burning boatyard receded in the distance..

Fiona stood behind him at the stern rail, gazing back at the fire, her dark eyes narrowed, Sam's old revolver still in her hand. Blood and gore covered her. It stuck to her clothes and dripped from her hair. The left side of her face was a mask of drying blood. All of which belonged to Donny MacTavish, Sam's seventeen year old 'First Mate'. Brave, naive Donny had seen one of Snake-Eyes grenades bounce towards Fiona and he had instantly reacted by shielding the young woman from the blast with his own body.

Sam had charged forward and shot Donny's murderer in the face, then ran back and dragged Fiona down to the dock, where the White Witch lay waiting. As thick smoke and burning ash filled the air, Sam got Fiona on board and cast off the lines. Firing up the little used diesel engine, he soon had them in mid-channel where he raised the sails and headed downriver, leaving a brave boy's eviscerated body --- and a lifetime of bitter-sweet memories --- far behind.

***

"Here, drink this," Sam said later as he handed Fiona a cup of hot tea laced with rum.

She took it as one in a trance, cradling the steaming mug in her hands like a newborn child.

"Drink," he said. "All of it. Then go below and sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"And you?" she asked, her dark eyes wet with tears. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Or I will be by morning." Then, after a long pause: "Danny. He was a good lad. Steady and true."

"He loved you, Sam," she said quietly. "It showed every time he looked at you."

"His father was a rough man --- and not always a kind one." Sam said. "And Donny was never too keen on farming."

"He wanted to be a sailor like you, Sam. He was so proud to be your 'first mate'."

Sam leaned into the tiller as a swell hit the starboard side. "He was a good lad. None better."

She silently reached out her bloody hand and held his.

"Drink your tea while it's hot, lass, then go below and sleep."

"And you?" she asked, concern and something else in her voice. "You need rest too."

"There's a quiet cove up ahead. I'll drop anchor there and come below. We'll sail for Mohawk in the morning."

She squeezed his hand. "Good. But don't be too long, Sam --- I'll be waiting ." Then she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the blazing sunset and his memories of a brave seventeen year old boy.

***

The White Witch arrived at the Mohawk Marina shortly before noon. She'd been spotted sailing into the bay and a fair crowd was waiting for her to dock. Helen Simpson, Abner Hays and the owner of the marina, Molly Tweed, were in the front of the crowd.

"We saw the fire, Sam and a bunch of us went to help, "Abner yelled as he caught the stern rope Sam tossed him and cleated it to the wharf. "But it was too far gone to save anything inside. We did pull a couple of bodies clear. One of them was in pieces."

"That would be Donny MacTavish," Sam said as he set out the bumpers and went to tie off the bow rope. "He gave his life to save Fee."

Helen grabbed his arm as he passed and turned his to face her. "What do you mean he 'gave his life to save Fee?'" she demanded, glaring first at him and them the young woman still on the boat. "What happened out there?!"

Molly Tweed stepped up, her once handsome face now lined and twisted with hate. "Was it those goddamned looters?! Looters killed my Fred, and all he was doing was giving out free food!"

"It wasn't looters, Molly," Sam said. "It was Billy-Ray Gleason. He and a few others came looking for some payback from when I sent them packing a week or more ago. One of them had a grenade launcher. Donny used his body to shield Fiona when one rolled her way. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

"What happened to Billy-Ray?" Abner asked.

"We killed him," Sam replied flatly.

"We?" Helen asked.

"Donny and Fiona mostly", Sam said. "I was busy with the others. The guy with the grenade launcher and some weird chick with an AK. That Mohawk that works for Gleason was there as well."

"Martin Strongheart?!" Abner repeated. "Jesus, Sam! People say he's a stone cold killer!"

Sam did something that could have been mistaken for a smile. "Well, Donny put him down, but the bastard didn't stay down. The chick with the AK and a tall blonde got him into a car. They took Billy-Ray's body as well. With Donny dead and everything burning, I took Fiona down to the Witch and we took off. Figured we'd come here and warn you. Give you time to get ready."

"Get ready?" Helen repeated. "What do we have to get ready for?"

Sam turned to the woman that he had once loved long ago. He knew that a part of him still did --- just not in the way that she wanted. "Ralph Gleason's son is dead. Killed by me and others from here. He'll want his revenge --- not only on me, but the whole town as well."

"But ---", Helen stammered. "But that's insane! He can't do that!"

That smile that wasn't a smile flashed again. "Maybe before the Pandemic he couldn't. Buy as we all know, things have changed in the last five years. There's no 9-1-1to call, no courts or civilized restraints of any kind. We have to look after ourselves. By working together we can be ready for him." Sam paused to look over the now frowning crowd. "But I warn you now, if you don't take this seriously, or if you try to go it alone, then Gleason will do to this town what he did to my boatyard --- only the body count will be considerably higher."

After a considerable amount of muttering and grumbling, Abner spoke up loud and clear. "Alright Sam, I for one believe you. We have to a least prepare for Gleason coming for us. Maybe he won't, but if he does, we should all be ready."

Most agreed with Abner, then someone asked Sam what they should do next. "Go home and take stock of what food, drink and weapons you have. Then let's have a town meeting at the church hall at 3 o'clock. We can make some detailed plans then." The crowd approved of the idea and most went off to their homes. Helen and Abner both hung back.

"When do you think Gleason will come, Sam?" Abner asked.

"Not for a day or two, Abe. He'll want information first. He'll send some of his men to check out the town and see if they can find me. Either way, sooner or later he'll come in force."

"But we'll be ready for him, right?"

"Right, Abe. We will."

Then Helen spoke up. "But what if they don't find you here? What if you go somewhere else? What if you and your girlfriend sail off in your boat for a month or two? Hell, sail south and spend the winter in the Caribbean! Come back in a year or two. Things will have calmed down by then."

This time Sam did truly smile. "That sounds pretty good, Helen, but first of, Fiona is not my 'girlfriend'. Secondly, If I'm not here when Gleason comes, he'll take it out on the rest of you. He'll think you're hiding me, or know where I am --- and he'll torture each and every you to find out."

"But we won't know where you've gone, so we can't tell him," she said.

"Sadly Helen, he won't believe you. And even if he does, he'll still take it out on all of you."

"So, one way or another," Abner put in. "We have to fight him and you have to be here."

"It looks that way, Abe" Sam said. "Now, let's have some lunch and get ready for the meeting."

The two men seemed more than content with the idea --- the two women however not so much.

***